Monday, May 02, 2005

Corner Pocket Saloon

"Shut off that fucking juke box," Eddie yelled, "or I'm going to ram this damned beer bottle through the speaker!"

The piece of crap had been repeating the same song over and over again for nearly an hour. Somebody had to do something about it. A pissy-looking bar-back came out from behind the bar to fix the machine, giving Eddie an annoyed glance.

"Thank you," he said, in a kind of mocking tone. "Now, what were we talking about?"

I was busy looking around at all the other patrons, who were staring at Eddie and I. I snapped out of my daze when Eddie punched my shoulder to get my attention.

"Shit, chill out." I gave him an annoyed look. "I don't know what we were talking about."

We sat in silence for a second, and refilled our mugs with cold Icehouse from the pitcher. We were in a small poolhall downtown called Corner Pocket Saloon. It was a decent hang-out with cheap beer and decent pool tables, but it always lacked pretty girls. "Why do we always come here?"

Eddie gave me a funny look. "What are you talking about, this is my first time --"

"It wouldn't matter what bar or club you went to anyways, Johnny", the bartender replied, as he refilled our pitcher. I was wondering why we could never finish the pitcher...

"Yeah, you are right about that Ray, sadly." Eddie looked confused. "Oh yeah, Ray, this is Eddie. Eddie, Ray."

"Nice to meet you," Ray said, shaking Eddie's hand.

"Why wouldn't it matter what bar we went to?" Eddie asked.

I took a large sip of my beer and patted Eddie on the back. "Because, Eddie, every guy in this god-forsaken town is scouting the bars and clubs, and every girl is with one of them."

"There's got to be some single girls out there, somewhere." He seemed hurt by my comment, like I had just bashed one of his dreams.

"Well, there are some. It's up to you though... How hard do you feel like working to find one. Hahah!" Ray said, laughing as he wiped down the bar and went to serve another customer.

"How much is this going to cost, anyways?" Eddie asked, downing the last of his mug.

"Four dollars," I replied. He was confused again. "They don't charge me for refills."

"Why, because you're a regular?" questioned Eddie.

"No, because my last name is Pockets."

~ Johnny Pockets

A Regular Morning

The alarm clock went off at around ten in the morning. I turned it off and went back to sleep -- until about two in the afternoon, when my cell phone rang.

The caller was loud, and friendly sounding -- he knew me, apparently, but I couldn't recognize the voice; not with that pounding headache. I questioned him fast, wanting desperately to go back to sleep. When he told me who he was, I immediately sat up in my bed.

"Eddie? Eddie, Eddie? High school Eddie? Holy shit, man! I haven't talked to you since right after graduation! What have you been doing since high school? You a pharmacist yet?" Back in high school, Eddie always promised us that he was going to become a pharmacist, and use all the chemicals to invent some wild new drug -- "Something that lets you see and feel everything you try and imagine, while you just lay there." That's how he used to describe it; and every time he did so, I would tell him to stick to pot and beer. God knows a new drug is the last thing America needs. People are crazy enough.

"Actually, I dropped that idea and went for art instead. In fact, I'm transferring here to take more sculpting classes at the University." There was brief pause. I guess he was expecting me to applaud his new career of choice, but I was really just shaking my head with pity. How the hell are you going to pay your rent?

"I went into journalism, but lately I've just been doing freelance work for a living. Where are you going to be living?" He told me he was going to be moving into a one bedroom apartment near the campus -- not too far from my place. We went on to talk about old times for a good half an hour, until I finally realized I was still sitting in bed and it was getting close to three o'clock. We made plans to meet up later in the day to have a couple beers, and I hung up the phone.

I forgot that I needed to pay the rent, and that meant that I needed to pull out money and get a money order... The bastards in the office building stopped accepting my checks a long time ago. I took a shower and got dressed quickly.
It was about three thirty when I left my apartment. I stopped at a gas station for a soda and some Advil. My head was still pounding from all the drinking that I had done the night before. I thought about just grabbing a beer for the ride to ease the hangover, but decided against drinking and driving for the day. It was a good idea not to take a beer along for the journey, because the traffic was terrible -- dangerous, really.
I made it back to the apartment complex about three traffic violations and four potentially deadly collisions later -- just in time to pay the rent. The land-lady had her keys in her hand as she shot bullets at me with her eyes. I scribbled my signature on the money order as fast as I could -- I'd better make this quick, I thought, This could be that day, when the wretched land-lady just goes over the edge. She might have a gun in that filing cabinet she's leaning against, or a dagger... She looks brutal enough. I finished filling out the money order and handed it to her quickly, trying hard not to look at her.
"Thanks", I said as I went out the door at a jogging speed. I had no reason to be in a hurry. I didn't have to go anywhere until later on, at night. Still, the faster I could get across the complex, to my apartment -- the farther I would be from that land-lady and the main office, and the faster I could relax and get high... I had only been awake for three hours, and already my day had made me angry at the world.
~ Johnny Pockets

Friday, April 29, 2005

Here's the Kick-Off

Okay, let me begin...

I have nothing to say... How sad -- I have been sitting here, in front of this very computer -- doing nothing? I don't know what I was thinking about while staring at the blank screen, but if there were complex thoughts roaming around in my brain -- then they must not have been very interesting... I think that I would remember something interesting.

Today hasn't been interesting; which sucks, seeing as how the name of this blog is Sensible Insanity... Oh well, right? I would have preferred to have written about wild, drunken parties today -- for the sake of better first impressions -- but too bad. There was nothing to do today, and still, there is nothing to do tonight.

I guess that explains my lack of a short-term memory. The boredom has driven me insane, and the pot can only handle so much of the insanity... Or does it handle the boredom? I don't do anything different when I'm high, so the pot must handle the insanity.

The world drives people insane. Lack of entertaining activity can drive one insane, like myself. Too much activity can also drive one insane -- like Hillary Clinton.

Rap music can drive you insane. Either you hate it and just cannot stand hearing it as much as you are forced to hear everyday; or you love it, and the insanity effects your vocabulary, wardrobe, friends, and sometimes even makes you run around with a "gat, busting caps in foo's asses." That music can put you in jail.

The same goes for all kinds of music. The emo-kids, and even some of the punks... They quit eating meat first -- and all of a sudden, they don't even drink or smoke... They might not get put in jail as easy as rap-lovers, but some of them are the lamest creatures on Earth.

The world is insane, believe me. Everything can drive you insane, sometimes, and if everything can drive somebody insane, than everybody must be insane by now. The problem is, everybody is used to it. And, when you look into things a little bit deeper -- everything just seems to make so much sense... Sadly.

~ Johnny Pockets

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